Arrows of Revolution (Kingmakers Book 3)

by Honor Raconteur

  “We need to report this to Estole immediately.” Regaining his energy, Woelfel popped up to his feet. “I don’t know the cause, we’ll definitely have to investigate this, but Edvard’s wish has come true—Iysh is bankrupt.”

  “No, that’s not quite what he was aiming for,” Ash corrected, struggling to stay awake. “He wanted to bankrupt Iysh enough that they couldn’t afford to send an army.”

  “They likely bankrupted themselves sending the army,” Riana opined, eyes closed. Truly, it was marvelously comfortable right here.

  “Riana, don’t fall asleep there,” Ash warned. “You’ll wake up with a crick in your neck.”

  Drat it, the man made a good point. She forced her eyes back open. “So what does this mean? We can’t steal any money to pay for mercenaries.”

  “Unfortunately correct,” Woelfel growled, vexed. “That would have been handy. It also means, however, that Maddox is not going to be able to keep his army in the field for much longer. He’s already been out, what? A month?”

  Ash disagreed, “Depends on what you’re considering the starting point to be. But we can’t make any calculations on how long he can fight. We’re not sure how much money he took with him to begin with.”

  “But we can guess, and even a rough estimation is good enough until we can put our hands on accurate numbers. If Iysh is truly wiped out, then Maddox can’t stay up there any real time at all. This isn’t a siege—it’s a waiting game to see who will crumble first. The only real question is, can the army find a way around the barrier before their time runs out?”

  Riana prayed that they couldn’t. “We have to trust that they can’t. But while we’re looking for those numbers, we need to find the reason why Iysh is suddenly bankrupt as well. This is beyond strange to me. We’ve seen no sign that they’re in dire financial straits.”

  “That is true,” Woelfel agreed, sinking back into his seat. The way he popped up and down with false energy inclined Riana to think he was sleep-deprived like the rest of them and punch-drunk because of it. “It’s a good question. Really, if they are so broke, then why is the Court functioning like it always is? Why haven’t we seen any sign of depression here in the city? Why is no one talking about funds being tight, or doing cutbacks, or some sort of economical reforms?”

  “Perhaps Iysh still has money, it’s just been moved elsewhere?” Ash ventured uncertainly. “Although that begs the question why.”

  “Why indeed. We definitely need to investigate this. I’ll start sending out queries to my colleagues immediately.”

  A stray thought popped out of her mouth before she could even think it through. “I wonder if this is why they only sent the wizard assassins that one time?”

  Both men looked at each other for a moment before cottoning on. “Ah, you mean that time they attacked the barrier while it was being set up?” Ash asked. “Yes, that was odd, just a single occurrence. Everyone was sure it would happen again, but oddly enough they didn’t try it.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t have the money to try it,” Woelfel agreed thoughtfully. “It does take serious coin to hire wizards, even the nefarious sorts. Perhaps you’re on to something, Saira. Well. In the interim, what do we report home?”

  Riana envisioned Troi’s and Edvard’s possible response to a message and winced. “If we say ‘treasury empty but we don’t know why’ it will not go over well.”

  “Edvard will be delighted, at least at first. Troi will tear his hair out,” Ash stated certainly. “But either way we need to tell them. Even if we don’t know why, or aren’t sure where the money’s gone, they need to know that something is seriously amiss.”

  “I’m not saying we stay silent until we have all the answers,” Woelfel assured him. “I’m just wondering how to phrase our report. We can’t do a long, involved message by courier pigeon.”

  More’s the pity. “Let’s use rice paper to cut down the weight and write as much as we can.”

  “I vote Ash writes the note.” Woelfel volunteered him with a sadistic smile.

  “Why me?” Ash protested. “I’ve been sneaking in and out of palace compounds, I’m tired!”

  Woelfel was quick with his rebuttal, tone matter of fact. “You have the smallest handwriting out of all of us and Troi needs a firsthand account.”

  Riana could feel Ash’s vast reluctance to do anything that required brain power. All the man wanted was his bed, and she didn’t blame him. Nearly whining, he demanded, “Do I have to?”

  “The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can go to bed,” Riana encouraged, getting up so that she could pull him bodily out of the chair.

  Groaning and mumbling inarticulately, Ash staggered his way to the desk and pulled out a thin sheet of rice paper and a pen. Riana stayed at his shoulder and read as he wrote. Right now, Ash’s mind wasn’t at its sharpest, and she wanted to make sure that he included all of the details that he should. Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t sure anything he wrote right now would make sense.

  Woelfel patiently waited, and when it was done, picked the sheet up and read through it himself. He nodded in satisfaction at the end. “Good enough. I’ll send this off. Go to bed, both of you. I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”

  “You don’t have to tell us twice,” Ash grumbled, and stumbled out of the study.

  Riana, feeling like she was eighty, followed right behind him. This spy business was fun, unquestionably, but it could certainly take it out of a person.

  The blankets were warm, the mattress soft, the dream pleasant and lighthearted, and Riana lay in the perfect sleeping position so that not even one joint had the slightest discomfort. She was deeply asleep without any desire to wake up anytime soon.

  Something roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and bounced her hard against the mattress, jerking her back into the waking world. “RIANA!”

  That was Woelfel’s voice and he never called her by her true name. Riana had awakened because of the brutal manner in which he’d used, but with that, her mind snapped to full alertness.

  “What? Who died?” she demanded frantically, trying to get her balance together enough to stagger out of the bed.

  “Not that,” Woelfed denied with a frantic shake of the head. “Zelman is calling for you.”

  For several long seconds, that statement didn’t make an ounce of sense. It was like Woelfel was speaking in a foreign language and she didn’t know any of the words. “Zelman. As in, King Zelman? Of Iysh?”

  “Yes, yes,” Woelfel confirmed impatiently. “Are you actually awake?”

  “I’m fairly certain I’m not,” Riana denied, feeling like her head was spinning. “This has to be a dream. It’s too strange.”

  “I wish it were a dream.” Woelfel didn’t waste another second trying to convince her, but instead went through the connecting door and into Ash’s room. “FALLBRIGHT!”

  Riana listened as the two men repeated nearly the same conversation she’d just had, and the sense of realness started to sink in. The King of Iysh wanted to see her? What for? She’d done so many suspicious things since her arrival that it made her paranoia scream. Worried, she sprinted into Ash’s room. “Woelfel. How did the summons arrive?”

  “By royal messenger. Trust me, if he knew what we were up to, it would have been guards waking you up instead of me.”

  A very good point. It let her breathe a little easier. “But there was no mention of why?”

  “A king doesn’t have to explain himself,” Woelfel responded impatiently. “Now, get ready. He wants you at the palace in an hour and I know that it takes at least half an hour to get through all of the security and checkpoints to his study.”

  In that case, she had ten minutes to wash her face and dress. That didn’t give her much time at all to look Court presentable. “Woelfel, send me someone to help with my hair, I won’t have enough time otherwise.”

  “Penny is bringing up a pressed dress for you, she’ll help.”

  Bless the man for the for
esight. Or perhaps Mrs. Pennington had realized it herself. The woman was marvelously efficient. Either way, Riana couldn’t waste another minute and rushed back into her room.

  They might have set some sort of speed record in getting her ready. By the time Riana rushed down the stairs, she felt as if she had been in some sort of storm that involved pins and hair combs. Either way, she looked presentable enough to pass muster. Woelfel waited impatiently outside, ready to help her into the carriage, which she hopped into with alacrity. In a thrice they were off, moving at a fast trot through the daily traffic. Riana took a glance out of the window, only just realizing the time. “Is it noon?”

  “Just past. You slept about six hours. I hope you got enough rest.”

  Riana snorted. “Even if I hadn’t, there’s enough adrenaline in me to keep me wide awake for the next three days.”

  Woelfel laughed, still tense but regaining his equilibrium. “I feel the same. Royal messengers are enough to scare me, but a summons directly from the king? It’s nigh unheard of for a man of my position. I’m not ranked highly enough in Court to be important to him.”

  “I wish we had some inkling of what he wanted,” Riana fretted.

  “Just remember, don’t make eye contact unless invited to do so by the king himself—twice. Always end speaking with ‘Your Majesty.’ Listen attentively and try not to disagree with anything he says.”

  That was a tall order to keep up for any length of time. Riana prayed, for her nerves’ sake, that this meeting would be brief.

  Entering the palace grounds during normal hours was—no pun intended—a day and night difference. There was activity, people, noise, work, and idleness mingled together from all the different classes as they went about their usual routines. Riana paid scant heed to any of it, instead trying to mentally rehearse at least the opening greeting to the king so she didn’t make a farce of it.

  The carriage stopped, a messenger met them at the door, and they were ushered straight through a side door that she’d had no idea existed. It did not lead to the elaborate rooms that she had been in previously but instead to a western wing that somehow seemed simpler and colder in comparison. There wasn’t as much gold gilding in the molding, or statuary; that likely lent to her impression.

  It was a very short walk down a broad hallway and into the first door on their right. The door actually stood open, so the messenger stepped right through, then took a side step to the right before bowing and announcing, “Lady Saira Vaulx and Lord Cyr Woelfel, Your Majesty.”

  Riana gulped in a breath, lifted her chin, and sailed through.

  Damp air and smoke, that was her first impression. A roaring fire was in the fireplace off to her right, and it wasn’t drawing quite right, so that smoke hovered around the ceiling of the room. No windows were open to help with this, leaving the air heavy and stuffy. There was a broad expanse of carpet, soft and thick, that led straight to a massive wooden desk that was strangely empty of anything but a single map.

  Behind it paced Zelman.

  This was Riana’s first close up look at the king, as she had done her best to avoid him before this, and she had to admit she wasn’t very impressed: a short, dumpy figure with thinning grey hair, a waxy complexion and an unnatural flush to his cheeks. The clothes he wore were expertly tailored to his frame—and she could not fault the tailors, but the man did not look like a king. More like a merchant, and one in dire straits, at that.

  Remembering Woelfel’s advice, she ducked into a deep curtsey and did not lift her head. “Your Majesty, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Saira Vaulx. Raise your head.”

  She almost did and then remembered, she had to be told that twice.

  “I said raise your head, girl!”

  What was with that angry tone? A sinking feeling in her stomach, she lifted her head. “Can I be of assistance, Your Majesty?”

  “I hope so. I bloody well hope so! You’re from Senn, yes? That’s what I’m told.”

  “That’s correct, Your Majesty.” Riana shot Woelfel a look. Why would he ask that?

  Zelman slammed a palm on top of the map. “Senn. Senn intends to secede from Iysh, doesn’t it?!”

  Well, they did, but how did he know that? Riana gave him a baffled expression, hands spread out in a warding gesture. “Your Majesty! What a thing to suggest.”

  “Don’t play me, girl. My treacherous son, Hendrix, has been going around all over this country and speaking with people. Senn was the first place he went to. What did he say!”

  For the first time in this man’s presence, Riana was able to answer honestly, “I haven’t the faintest idea, Your Majesty. I was not there when he visited and have heard nothing about it.”

  Not at all happy with this answer, he pressed, “I’ve heard reports that people are actually listening to him, although it’s only the commoners, and they’re not very useful. Still, it is maddening to think that he is trying to undermine me! Are you saying that no one in Senn paid him any attention? Do you dare say that to me?”

  Riana hadn’t actually heard much, as Troi’s messages were naturally truncated in length. They had been able to infer most of what they knew based on his orders to them and the grand plan that they had made beforehand. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid that I cannot help in this circumstance. I have heard nothing from my family about Prince Hendrix’s visit.”

  “PRINCE!” Zelman bellowed and swiped a tray of sliced fruit onto the floor, where it clattered and bounced in every direction. “Don’t call that misbegotten whelp a prince! I do not acknowledge him! The day he was born, I should have strangled him and his mother! I knew the moment she announced her pregnancy that I would have nothing but trouble from him!”

  Zelman picked up a glass from a water tray nearby and heaved it into the fireplace, making Riana jump. He started bellowing again, but this time he spoke with such fervor and speed that she couldn’t make out more than one word out of three. She watched in growing amazement as a man in his late fifties behaved like a three-year-old.

  No wonder the country was falling apart if this short-tempered man was running things.

  After the first fifteen minutes, his behavior changed from entertaining to tedious. If she hadn’t had a cover to protect, Riana would have either marched out or clobbered him first to shut him up. Instead, she was forced to stand there until he tired of his own voice. Her eyes glazed over, attention wandering, although she made sure to keep facing him and acting as if she were listening.

  Two hours dragged by and he finally tired, sagging into a chair. Stabbing a finger at the door, he rasped, “Out. And the minute you hear from your family, tell me every single word they say about that lout.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Riana promised. She dipped into a quick curtsey and then made a swift escape.

  Neither she nor Woelfel dared to breathe or speak a word until they were safely back in their own carriage and heading back to the townhouse. Only then did Riana heave out a breath and demand, “That idiot is a king?”

  “Well, why do you think Edvard had such an easy time seceding?” Woelfel responded jovially. “And why so many were willing to follow him? Zelman’s temper is legendary, second only to his stupidity. As tedious as that whole experience was, it conveys two very important things: one, he has no idea that you and Ash have been inside his treasury, which is very telling.”

  Yes, it was. Also heartening.

  “Second, Hendrix is apparently making amazing headway in his conquest of Iysh. It’s a bloodless one, yes, but an effective one. His persuasion to overturn Zelman must be extensive if the king is that agitated about it.” Woelfel’s expression fell into what Riana thought of as his ‘Zigzag’ face, the one where the spy’s mind was obvious. “It’s good news all around and we need to make sure to report it to Troi as soon as we’re back.”

  While she agreed, Riana’s paranoia planted a niggling doubt. “You don’t think this is a trap of some sort, do you? That Zelman
is manipulating us into sending word back to Estole to prove that we’re spies?”

  “I highly doubt it,” Woelfel denied reassuringly. “He isn’t the type to acquire proof when he suspects someone. He just arrests them and has the Courts sort the matter out. Besides, if someone does question us about it, we can say that we were sending a quick message home, asking about Prince Hendrix. We were hoping to give Zelman better information to go off of.”

  It was a plausible story, especially since the bird would be flying in that general direction anyway. “So no need to worry.”

  “Not about the bird at least.” In a rare flash of black humor, Woelfel quipped, “The question stands as such: which will fail first? Zelman’s sanity or Estole’s walls?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The problem with high society was that their clocks were reversed. Riana had spent her entire life getting up with the sun and going to bed with the moon. The nobility in Iysh seemed to find getting up before eleven o’clock in the morning to be sacrilegious, and they were perfectly fine partying until three in the morning. Riana still struggled to adapt to this very different pacing and was not doing that well with it. Somewhere around midnight she started to feel tired, and by one, normally ready to call it quits. But of course, she couldn’t, not if there were still people she could talk to and information she could wrangle.

  This night was such a night. The party was still going strong even though it neared one, and it showed no signs of slowing down. Riana was beyond tired, however, and needed twenty minutes to just sit somewhere quiet. Even ten minutes would do. A quiet, cool place where she could put her feet up.

  Fortunately, her tour with Bexton (and Savir) had shown her some of the nooks and crannies that were not obvious at first glance. They were not in the main ballroom this time, but in an open atrium encased in glass, all so that they could see the winter sky. There were many hothouse plants in here, so that it felt more like early spring than winter. Riana went looking for a particular bed of white roses that hid a discreet door. There it was.